Boy at the Window
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. Based on the poem by Richard Wilbur. "Lloyd, it's just a snowman." But no matter what he said or did, Kratos could not tear away his little boy from his seat at the window sill, watching his little snowman before the blizzard was about to hit.


_Seeing the snowman standing all alone  
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear._

"Lloyd…"

But the commanding tone went unnoticed to the little boy. Kratos struggled to keep himself from rolling his eyes or sighing—or any other antic he had that expressed his small dismay at a failed attempt to get his son's attention. At the moment, the toddler, apparently, seemed much more interested in looking longingly out the window than clinging to his father's legs, like he usually did.

So Kratos tried once more.

"Lloyd…"

_The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare  
A night of gnashings and enormous moan._

Sniffling, the little boy slowly looked over at his father, showing his tear-stained cheeks and wet brown eyes. Another sniffle, and with that, the child brought up a long sleeve to rub his nose messily. "It's not fair…" he mumbled in a voice that would be barely audible to the normal human ear, but to his father, who wasn't in fact…a normal human being in nearly every sense, it was a phrase he easily heard.

Restraining a sigh, Kratos walked over to the darkened window, and leaned over Lloyd's small frame to peer at what was simply 'not fair.' But to him, all he saw admist the snowy landscape, night sky and bare trees, was a small, lone, and misshaped snowman. And to Lloyd, that seemed to be the object of his pity, and Kratos, although having lived over four hundred times the lifespan of a normal man, did not understand why.

_His tearful sight can hardly reach to where  
The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes_

_Returns him such a God-forsaken stare  
As outcast Adam gave to paradise._

"He looks so sad…" sniffled Lloyd as he still gazed at his little snow creation, like it were his own child.

Kratos looked down upon his boy that now sat beneath his chest (as he was leaning over him, hands on the window sill), before looking back out the window. Then he spoke.

"Lloyd…" he began. Years of experience with people told Kratos that he should choose his words carefully…but in the end, his frank mind won over. "…it's just a snowman."

Another sniffle. "But it's _my_ snowman! I made him! And…and momma said there's gonna be a storm, and, and--he'll die!" Lloyd turned to him, eyes wide and fists clenching. "I don't want him to die, Daddy!"

Putting a hand atop his son's head, Kratos fought the urge to say that the inanimate pile of snow wasn't alive in the first place. He had to remind himself—Lloyd was about two years old. And Kratos? Well over four thousand. That's enough to cause a humongous rift in knowledge, wouldn't one think?

"The storm won't kill him. Maybe it'll make him smaller…" Here Kratos paused in thought, before continuing. "But it's best for him out in the snow. After all, if you brought him inside, he would for sure die. Heat isn't good for him."

Lloyd frowned, turning his teary eyes back once more to the window as he gazed at his snowman. Forced to submit defeat in the small argument, he then mumbled quietly, "…I don't want him to die…"

_The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,  
Having no wish to go inside and die._

_Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry._

Kratos turned his eyes to the snowman as well, watching it a moment more, before standing up and patting his son's head. "Well, keep your fingers crossed tonight. Maybe you'll still see him tomorrow."

Lloyd sniffled, and nodded reluctantly, rubbing his nose with his sleeve once more. He could find no more words to say—it was just longing the little boy felt. Longing that he would wake up, and his snowman would be there—unharmed from the storm. It was strange for the child to think that for once, he was not afraid for himself of the rage that the storm would cause. He was afraid for his little snowman, his little creation.

Nodding to himself, Kratos up-ed and left the little boy alone, but not before calling over his shoulder to remind Lloyd to go to bed. As to make his statement more clear, he blew out the candles that kept the room alight, and then gently shut the wooden door, bidding him good night.

But little Lloyd didn't go to bed exactly at that moment. Now that his room was left in shadow, it allowed him to see outside more easily—now it allowed him to see his little snowman better. Surely he could not go to bed now that he was able to see his creation clearly. No, now was the time to stay with it, and be able to console it when the rough, merciless winds come…

Against his will, the mere images of his imagination created more tears that fled down his cheeks. Hiccupping with sorrow, his view blurred, Lloyd firmly refused to leave that little window as he watched his snowman, awaiting the coming storm as if it were he that it would kill.

_Though frozen water is his element,  
He melts enough to drop from one soft eye  
A trickle of the purest rain, a tear_

All tears halted their course and hiccups stopped in the throat as Lloyd gasped. He…he could not believe it! Was it just him…or…or did the snowman shed a tear, too? But that wasn't possible…snowmen didn't cry. They were made out of snow, they couldn't cry…

As true to a two-year-old's quickly-changing mind, Lloyd bounded off his seat near the window sill and clambered up to his small bed, suddenly deciding it was time to go to sleep.

He tugged the covers over the brown tussle of his hair, and curled up in a ball, quickly saying his prayer, and then bidding himself good night.

…upon a second thought, he bid the snowman good night, too. For it seemed strange to the boy that if a snowman could cry, that he shouldn't be bidden good night as well.

Then, at that moment, the storm had begun. The wind began to howl against his window, and the sound of hail pelted on the roof above. Curling into his little ball tighter, Lloyd now began to fear the storm as he did naturally once more. Maybe…maybe he should go to momma and dad. They always let him sleep with them when storms like this occurred…

And when the wind became sharp and a particularly large hailstone fell on the roof, Lloyd jumped, and shivered, but he didn't need any more jolting by the blizzard—he was already off, having nabbed his pillow and crossing across the wooden floor with his socked feet. The little boy didn't stop his journey until he was safe in the refuge of his parents' bedroom—safe in their loving arms—safe as if he had found the candle in the dark admist the terror that raged outside.

Yes, safe…

~ __

For the child at the bright pane surrounded by  
Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.


End file.
